


As Fate Would Have It (But Not Our Hearts)

by dustbunnyprophet, seunggiliwko



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Getting Together, Lots of Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Romance, Slow Burn, endgame JJSeung
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 13:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11209461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustbunnyprophet/pseuds/dustbunnyprophet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seunggiliwko/pseuds/seunggiliwko
Summary: They were like two ships passing in the night, and yet there was something, always something pulling them towards each other.Years turned to months turned to days turned to a moment when everything could have changed.It didn’t.A JJSeung fic.





	As Fate Would Have It (But Not Our Hearts)

Jean woke up with a gasp, chest heaving as he tried to steady his breaths. The sheets clung to his skin, sticky with sweat. He stared at the darkness of the room, trying to will his heart back to a normal pace. He could feel the heat which burned deep inside him, and the lingering impressions from the dream he had just woken from made it sear through his body. Jean squeezed his eyes shut, but no matter how hard he tried he could not banish the images that fluttered to the forefront of his mind. Stolen memories his slumbering mind had twisted into something wanton.

Dark hair clutched between his fingers, pulled to expose a pale throat, a gasp as he kissed the skin. It could have been Isabella. It _should_ have been her. But as the dream had tangled him deeper, it had not been cerulean eyes looking at him with want, but dark dark eyes, and a body that could flex with ease. The same body Jean had often found himself staring at, and never quite understanding why he did that in the first place. Why he couldn’t seem to ignore Seung-gil’s presence.

He opened his eyes to stare at the darkness, but the memories of the dream he had just had, were not keen on disappearing. And he had to face the prospect of having just had a very vivid dream of his former rinkmate and fellow competitor. Jean could feel a flush rise to his cheeks when he remembered just _what_ he had been dreaming about. But even as embarrassment rippled under his skin, the unfulfilled yearning which had gripped him in his dream became very tangible. And Jean gulped at the realisation that not only he was not able to push that dream away, but that he was in fact growing hard.

It was a struggle not to reach with his hand and bring himself over the edge. But he couldn’t. It was no better than cheating. He should be thinking about Isabella, imagining how it was going to be once they got married. The way her milky pale skin was going to look flush against his own. But even as he pictured that, his mind summoned the sight of a pale muscular abdomen he had glimpsed in the locker rooms at the Rostelecom Cup. And the faint dusting of dark hair trailing down Seung-gil’s navel only to disappear into the line of his trousers.

His hips moved on their own volition, seeking friction, but finding none. Jean’s stomach was in knots, and it was a losing battle against his own body. But it was wrong to think about him, to think about anyone other than his fiancé.

And yet he did, he did.

There was Seung-gil bending in a split, the curve of his ass in the snug trousers and the ripple of muscles making Jean _need_ some contact. He remembered the way Seung-gil’s costume showed the column of his neck and the deep cut exposed his chest. And he couldn’t help remembering his dream, and the sight of Seung-gil staring at him as he pulled the shirt off, nipples perking in the chill of the air. His hips were moving, and he needed to _feel._

He gave in, all but pushing his hand into his boxers. And then there was nothing but images, dreams, memories, and the imagination of how good it would feel to grip that black hair while his mouth was wrapped around his length. He could imagine those dark eyes staring at him, coldly even as his tongue curled around him, as his lips travelled up and down his length.

Jean kept imagining those eyes, staring at him impassively as he took his length in, all of it, wet and warm around Jean. But the gaze was unfaltering. Jean’s hand kept moving fast and uncoordinated, but his mind was not there. His mind was looking at Seung-gil keeping his cool, as his head bobbed. Up and down, faster, faster. And Jean pulled that hair, needing to feel more, to go deeper.

He could picture it vividly, Seung-gil staring, staring, staring. Never showing anything. Staring even as he gagged. And just as Jean imagined the sound, it became too much.

He groaned into the pillow as his hips suddenly buckled.

He saw white as everything spilled out of him, warm and sticky against his hand. His chest was heaving, and his heart pounded in his ears.

Jean could feel a balmy wave of satisfaction washing over him as his breaths began to slow down. But it was short lived. Because even as he bonelessly lay there in his bed, Jean could already feel a pinprick of shame in the hollowness of his chest. And the further his lungs calmed the stronger it grew, spidering out and curling around his limbs.

What had he done?

It was so wrong. So wrong. He should have been thinking about Isabella. About the girl he loved, the girl he couldn’t wait to hold tight tight against him. The girl he was going to marry.

He should have been thinking about her.

Not Seung-gil.

 

Seung-gil stole another glance at his watch. It read 30 minutes past nine. _Figures_ , only 10 minutes had passed since the last time he’d checked, but to him, it had felt like hours slowly trickling by. He was getting antsy, social interaction not being his strongest suit. Grabbing another bottle of beer from the counter, Seung-gil made his way towards a corner of the club, eager to distance himself from the rambunctious action happening at the center of the room.

He took a sip, then a gulp, eager to force down the foam along with the sense of annoyance slowly bubbling in his chest. The reason why he had to attend the bachelor party— _Jean’s bachelor party at that_ —was a momentary lapse of weakness he had allowed himself, a stupid mistake he would surely live to regret.

In that isolated corner, he watched as his fellow skaters— _his competition_ , mingled and socialised amongst themselves.

He watched Phichit having the time of his life, flitting from one end of the room to the next, taking selfies with the others or striking up easy conversation, his mouth never seeming to tire from talking and smiling. Watched Guang Hong and Leo in deep conversation over their glasses of water, too young to actually consume the free-flowing alcohol being served at the counter. Watched Yuri hovering over Otabek who had taken over the DJ booth, serving beats to the elation and excitement of the whole club. Watched as Georgi wove in and out of the throng of people, passing Seung-gil’s spot, phone to his ear and a female voice spouting rapid Russian from the other end, sound audible even in the din. Watched Chris slowly stripping as he climbed on top of one of the tables, popping and dropping his ass in time with the beat. Watched as he coerced an unwilling Yuuri to join him— much to the guy's chagrin at the way his coach and lover, Victor was practically pushing him up on the stands. Watched as Victor apologised to his fiancé, mouth wide and forming it’s signature heart shape, something he had only ever seen when the man was around Yuuri. Watched as Emil tackled a grumpy Michele and made their way towards the man of the hour who was currently dancing in the thick of the crowd.

Watched as Jean smiled, practically beaming and having the time of his life. Watched him smile and howl and scream “I’m getting married!” at the top of his lungs, to the cheers and whoops of the club-goers. Watched him smile from elation at the knowledge that he was going to be a taken man soon, taken by the love of his life, and the fact that it wasn’t Seung-gil, _wasn’t him_ , wrung his chest and left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, worsened by the beer he was now chugging to keep himself from watching Jean any further.

He didn’t even want to go in the first place, having seen-zoned Jean’s invite in the group chat all the skaters were a part of. Upon noticing that he was the only one who hadn’t bothered to respond, Jean had taken to messaging him personally, bombarding Seung-gil with DMs until he had gotten so fed up that he had agreed just to make him stop. Messages that Seung-gil was now thumbing through, his finger wiping the screen as his eyes took in every word, consumed every character, a distraction he knew would prove treacherous.

 

 

Friday 8:19 PM

 **JJleroy!15:** Hey Seung-gil, r u coming to my party?

 **JJleroy!15:** If u don’t know, it’s my bachelor party and I’d appreciate it if u’ll be there. :)

 **JJleroy!15:** Everyone’s going, u should come too.

 **JJleroy!15:** It’s at The Escapade in Milan. It will be after World’s so u have no excuse not to go!!

 **JJleroy!15:** I know u r reading this, Seung-gil. :)

 **JJleroy!15:** C’mon Seung-gil. I only get married once. U have to help me celebrate!!

 **JJleroy!15:** It will be fun, I promise. Only us guys there!

 **JJleroy!15:** Do me a solid, please!! I’m asking as ur Juniors rival. ☹

 **JJleroy!15:** Please? 

 **JJleroy!15:** 제발? 제발?? 제발??? 

 **JJleroy!15:** I had to Google that, just so u know.

 **JJleroy!15:** At least appreciate my efforts of having to beg to u in Korean. 

 

Sunday 4:25 PM

 **seung-gillee:**           Fine.

 

 

A wry smile was slowly forming on Seung-gil’s lips as he reread the conversation (for lack of a better term) and it took him a while before it registered that his facial muscles were moving on their own accord.

He tightened his grip on his smartphone, knuckles alabaster in the flashing lights, ready to chuck his phone from the flash of anger searing inside of him. But as quickly as the feeling came, it went and left him feeling empty and hollow. He gave his head a quick shake, reeling his train of thought from wandering any further than they should, and arranged his features in his trademark poker face. If he was going to make it through the rest of the night, he needed to control his emotions— something he took pride in being able to do at the drop of a hat. But on this particular instance, he needed a little help.

Pocketing his phone, he made his way to the bar for one more drink.

One bottle became two, and two became five and the next thing he knew, his head was on the counter and his hand was gripping his ninth beer like a lifeline.

Seung-gil had a fairly high alcohol tolerance for someone who hardly drank. Strict with his regimen and dietary intake, he only ever had the occasional glass of champagne or wine at formal skating events. At the rare instance he needed to settle his nerves, he’d turn to something stronger, preferring the sharp and clear taste of _soju_ or the sweetness of _makgeolli_ , whichever was at hand. He could down his local liquor like a champ, full-blooded Korean through and through. But beer?

At first it barely registered, the effects too weak for him to notice. But by his fourth bottle, his head was starting to spin— the room swaying and beating to the tune, his senses hyperaware. He was also slowly starting to unwind, the guard he carefully kept up slowly crumbling with every bottle he downed. Everything started melding together— sounds were forming colors, the lights emitting a high-pitched trill that only he seemed to notice, and faces warping and stretching and making his head pound and ache.

He hadn’t noticed the flurry of skaters who had come to engage him in small talk, having a hard time keeping his vision still enough to distinguish one from the next, barely registering the worry in Yuuri’s voice as he asked him if he would like to have a glass of water or if he was okay or did he need to get some fresh air? Hadn’t noticed when Yuuri stood up from his seat and bumped into JJ who was on his way to the bar for a refill, hadn’t noticed the Japanese man's loud whisper in the Canadian’s ear, hadn’t noticed the look of sudden concern that flashed on JJ’s face before nodding to Yuuri, a gesture of thanks before hitching a small smile as he made his way to him, hadn’t noticed that the man who was now at his side was JJ fucking Leroy.

Seung-gil watched as a figure occupied the stool to his right, hearing the distinct voice thrown in the direction of a blob he believed to be the bartender before realizing that it was Jean who was now trying to coax him back to his senses.

He saw Jean adjusting himself to mirror his own precarious position, head rested on the counter with his right arm splayed as support, looking at him with eyes that strangely helped him focus and gather his wits.

“Hey, why are you getting drunk on your own when you haven’t even said a word of congratulations to me yet?” Jean asked him teasingly.

“I’m not drunk.” he slurred.

“Oh-kaaaay. Sure you aren’t. But at least get hammered and have a little fun _with_ us.“ Jean suddenly got up and gestured around the room.

“We’re here to celebrate _moi_ after all!” he ended with an annoying smile.

Seung-gil just groaned in reply which made Jean laugh, which made his head ache even more.

“C’mon, I’m having the DJ play ‘The Theme of King JJ’ next! We have to do the JJ Style together or it won’t be—“

Before his mind could seize a strong enough grip on his sanity, his body moved— stealing a kiss from Jean’s lips, effectively shutting the Canadian up mid-sentence. Seung-gil knew it was wrong, knew it was crazy for him to act on his repressed emotions, knew it was crazy for him to cling on to the last vestiges of hope he had all but conjured up in his suffering heart— but he had stopped caring three bottles ago.

Pulling back, he admired the look of surprise on Jean, savoring the beauty of his brows furrowed in utter confusion, his eyes wide-open, and his cheeks flushing a dull red in the lack of light. He smiled— genuine and warm and heartfelt, and he could see Jean’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed back a look of surprise at the act.

He tried to move in for another kiss, hoping that Jean would at least be drunk enough or stupid enough or (in the back of his muddled mind) actually wanted him enough to reciprocate, but all that he was met with were sweaty palms that held him back in his place.

“I… Seung-gil… We can’t… I… I can’t…”

He saw his own fear, his own heartbreak reflected in the man’s dilated pupils. But before he could think more of it, before he could wonder if Jean felt the same, he was left hanging, Jean walking away and making a quick exit out the club.

Seung-gil watched him go, watched his broad back disappear into the sea of people before his eyes closed and everything ceased to exist.

 

The night was pleasant, a light breeze scattering away the oppressive heat of the summer day. Jean ran a hand through his sweaty hair as he staggered out of the club. His own bachelor party. There was a tightness in his stomach that was more than the colourful array of cocktails he had drunk. It was a prickling sensation that rose up his chest, leading to the faint taste of beer which lingered on his mouth.

Where Seung-gil’s lips had been only moments before.

Jean exhaled, dropping his head as he walked down the brightly illuminated street. He felt the world tilt dangerously, and himself falling freely down a chasm that grew deeper and deeper with each passing step. Seung-gil had kissed him, and Jean’s treacherous heart refused to slow its pace. He was running away. Cravenly, Jean was running away. From the very images in his mind’s eye. From the too fresh memory of the sloppy softness of the Korean’s lips.

From the way Jean’s heart had skipped a beat.

It had been wrong. Terribly wrong. Jean was getting married in less than twelve hours, and what he was feeling was a thousand shades of wrong. He should _not_ be torn between the excitement of the moment and the regret of its transience. He should not compare the kiss Seung-gil had stolen from him to the countless kisses he had shared with Izzy. And not because it _couldn’t compare._ No, but because for all that Jean had never felt his entire body flare up in a blaze of emotions the way he had felt in those stolen seconds, he _loved_ Isabella. He was getting married, and it did not matter if he was _attracted_ to Seung-gil.

It did not matter.

His breaths were uneven, and he could feel panic crawl on the edge of his consciousness. Because he could not swallow down the thread of regret which kept pulling him back. He could not deny that part of him would have loved nothing better than to stay there in the club,  curling his fingers in Seung-gil’s inky black hair, and pulling him in for another kiss.

It was a crooked part of him, the same one which relished in the dreams that Jean too often had, and which lately had made him shamefully think of the beautiful Korean whenever he had wrapped his own hand around himself, seeking pleasure. It was the part of him that wanted to learn the texture of Seung-gil’s skin, the firmness of his muscles, that wanted to taste his mouth deeper than they had, that wished to know how a moan would sound in Seung-gil’s voice. The part of him which jealously treasured every single interaction, every word they had ever exchanged, every glance.

It was the same part of Jean that refused to accept that the next morning he would be driving to the quiet Italian town where the wedding would be held, and that by the time the day was done he would have exchanged vows with Isabella.  The girl _he_ loved. Because he did, he did, he reminded himself. He loved her.

After all the years they had spent together Izzy had grown into the most important person in Jean’s life alongside his family. She was his rock, his anchor, his greatest fan, his best friend. Jean loved her.

How could he not?

His feet, so detached from the rest of his body, led him to a large plaza, and he stopped for a moment, heaving laboured breaths that had nothing to do with physical exertion, and everything with the chaos that raged inside him.

He was attracted to Seung-gil, it was a truth he had begrudgingly learned to accept over the past months. The rush of emotions he had felt whenever the Korean had been close by had been clue enough. But Jean had to trust in the transience of attraction. And the permanence of love. Eventually Seung-gil was going to be nothing but a memory, and Isabella would be there by his side, like she always had been. They were going to start a family together. And the flares of emotion Seung-gil inspired in him would flicker and die.

Jean felt disgusted with himself, he was ashamed, and he had nothing but contempt for the way he felt. Because Isabella deserved so much. So much more.

And he was going to do everything in his power to give it to her.

With another sigh, Jean shook his head and walked towards the nearest road, fishing his phone out of his pocket and calling a cab. He had spent enough time mulling this over. He had to rest and ready himself to the next day.

He was getting married.

Everything would be fine.

It would, wouldn’t it?

Twelve hours later, Jean had just finished pronouncing his vows and he wondered for a horribly still moment if he had made a mistake. He had tried not to scan the crowd as he had made his way towards the altar of the church, feeling the chill of the ancient building seep through his suit. But try as he might, he had looked. And more than the presence of the guests it had been the absence of one painfully familiar face which had struck him, like a sucker punch to his stomach.

What had he been expecting? If the kiss they had shared the night before was any indication, Seung-gil shared the attraction which tormented Jean’s conscience. And his absence had glaringly confirmed it. Jean had felt like his lungs were being torn into shreds, and only the appearance of the bride, too beautiful for words to describe her, had managed to ground him back to the present of the situation. To the fact that he had been about to get married.

That he _was_ married now.

He kissed Isabella, a chaste peck on her carefully painted lips, and his memory chose that moment to set the image of the night before alight in his mind’s eye. Jean swallowed, struggling to keep the joyous face everyone expected him to wear, while underneath his taut skin Jean was screaming in confusion, tearing at his hair, and wondering if he had done the right thing, if this had been a huge and horrible mistake, if he should have waited, but for what, but how?

His thoughts were digging like fingernails into his flesh as he walked down the aisle with Isabella hanging off his arm, a vision of white lace and tulle, and delicate flowers. And yet, and yet, maybe he shouldn’t have married her. Maybe he shouldn’t.

But he had. And this was done. He had vowed to love her, and he did, he loved her. But was it enough? It had to be enough. He had vowed. He had vowed.

“JJ, are you alright?” Isabella’s whisper broke through the endless loop of thoughts which were spinning inside his mind and he gave her a weak smile.

And Isabella bless her soul, may not had known what he was thinking - _she must never learn, never! He could not do this to her, never! -_ but she knew he was tethering on the very edge of the same old precipice which always loomed just behind the corner. And so she threw the bouquet and dragged Jean towards the car which would drive them to the castle where the reception would be held. She dragged him to the back of the car, holding his hand tight, so tight, and murmuring to him that

“Everything will be alright, just breathe, JJ. Can you breathe for me? Everything will be okay.”

But would it?

Would it?

Struggling for his breaths, in the back of the car, with tears flowing down his cheeks, and tasting like salt, like bitterness, like regret, Jean did not know.

He did not know.

Had he made a mistake?

 

It was a mistake.

_It was definitely a mistake._

But even if he knew that what he did was wrong, he couldn’t bring himself to regret what he had done. Didn’t regret it in the heat of the moment. Didn’t regret it in the disastrous aftermath. Didn’t regret it now that he was 6,553 miles from the man who had caused the tumultuous storm brewing inside his heart. Would never regret it even if the stars were to fall from their place in the skies and the planets were to spin out of their orbits, hurtling themselves in the empty void of space— Seung-gil would never ever regret it, regret kissing Jean.

What he did regret was that he was too inebriated to give chase in that crucial moment, too impaired by the numbing haze of alcohol to stop Jean from turning away from him, turning away from _them_ — or what could’ve been them— them together, lips locked, hands entwined, bodies close, and fate sealed.

But even if time were to miraculously turn back and he were not as drunk as he had been then, would he have run after Jean? Would he have possessed the courage to risk everything— his image, his pride, his dignity, all for someone he knew would never choose him? Not then when they were children who found an unlikely friend in each other through their love for a common sport. Not then when they were teens, their relationship turning into a rivalry, fire burning as they bested each other on the ice, season after season, year after year. And certainly not now, now that the years had caught up and torn them apart, and it was too late, too late, _too late_ because Seung-gil had lost, lost the moment that he realised that the cruel dance they had been weaving around each other all this time had led to him falling for a man that would never be his.

It was those dark thoughts that lingered in his hungover mind the morning after— haunted him even now as he lay in solitude, curled on the couch in his lonely apartment in Seoul.

Five days had passed since he returned home, wretched and defeated from a competition that he had no chance in winning, disadvantaged from the start because the person whose heart he had been vying for had already chosen his champion long ago, chosen his destiny in the figure of a woman clad in white and an unending vow.

He remembered waking up in a cold sweat the morning after the bachelor party, the vestiges of a distant dream drowned out by the shooting pains in his temple. Disoriented, he grabbed for his phone, vaguely recalling that he had placed it on the bedside table before falling into a deep slumber.

Four-thirty in the morning— an ungodly hour for most, but never for him. He had strictly drilled it into his system to wake up before the break of dawn and nothing could break the habit, not even a change in time zones and most definitely not a drunken night out. Silently, Seung-gil berated himself for his lapse of stupidity, running his hands through his hair as his eyes tried to adjust to the lack of light, scanning his room until it fell on a suit, hanging on the closet door.

He remembered feeling the bile rise up his throat, threatening to spill out all over the sheets and forcing him to hurl out his stomach’s contents down the toilet bowl as his eyes watered from the physical and emotional pain that followed.

It broke him, seeing that suit. Knowing what wearing it would entail. Having to stand witness to a ceremony he had no intention of being a part of was the last thing he was prepared for.

He remembered stuffing the offending outfit in his luggage, cramming it in until it creased and wrinkled, deriving pleasure from the small act of rebellion. He then booked the first flight out to Korea before he proceeded to fix the rest of his baggage, his turn now to run away.

As the morning wore on, he stayed cooped up in his hotel room, ignoring the knocks on his door and the calls of his name. He had activated his phone’s airplane mode, not wishing to be disturbed any further as he laid listless on his bed. Unfortunately for him, the earliest flight he got was still hours away and he was getting impatient, his warring emotions eating at him from the inside. The hour of the wedding was fast approaching and he was the only one left in the hotel, the silence driving him crazier by the minute.

He decided to just head for the airport, knowing it was useless to wait any longer in that stuffy hotel room. But as he took his seat in the backseat of the cab, the driver asking him in broken English where he was headed to, Seung-gil paused. As if in a trance, he blurted the name of a well-known chantry in another town and told the driver to please step on it because he had a wedding to attend.

He remembered the drive to the chapel. Remembered how serene the lake looked and how beautiful the sky was, seemingly mocking the raging tempest at his core, his hand clutched to his chest to keep his breath steady. Remembered the panic rising as the shape of the bell tower loomed in the distance and he questioned himself what the fuck was he doing and that he should ask the nice man to turn back now while he still had the chance. Remembered how cold and clammy his palms were as he opened the car door, telling his driver he’d be back in a minute and would he kindly wait for him to finish his business. Remembered how he sneaked off to the flank of the chapel, its sides wide open and airy, affording him a view of the ceremony already underway. Remembered hearing a strong and sure voice echoing words of promise and undying love before he saw the familiar cornflower-blue eyes gleaming, the first traces of tears forming at the edges. Remembered hiding behind a column as Jean turned to look in his direction, hair slicked back and beautiful and breath-taking and him slipping through his fingers with every passing second. Remembered putting his hand to his mouth, trying to stop a howl of agony from escaping his lips as his heart broke and his world crumbled and his feet slipped from beneath him.

Everything that happened next was a blur.

Seung-gil vaguely remembered walking back to the cab, telling the driver to take him to the airport. Vaguely remembered the soul-draining wait he somehow endured to board his plane. Vaguely remembered how he went through the motions of checking-in and passing through immigration, relying on muscle-memory to get him through. Vaguely remembered the gruelling 12-hour flight back to Korea without even a wink of sleep to get him by. Vaguely remembered getting back to his apartment, his dog whining at his master’s pitiful state as he went straight to his bed, curling in on himself and letting the darkness he had kept at bay consume him completely.

Five days had passed. _Five days._ And still Seung-gil remembered everything. There on his couch, he stared up at the ceiling, his only companion lying at his feet. He could not stop the burning tears from falling or the violent shakes that wracked his lithe frame as he replayed each detail in his mind’s eye, accidentally waking his husky who looked up at him with so much sorrow on her face.

“Mianhae, Sarang. Mianhae… Mian, mian, mian…” choking on his apologies as he fell to his knees, holding on to her and crying into her warmth— his only salvation.

Sarang. _Love_.

The one thing that broke Seung-gil beyond repair and the only thing keeping him from falling apart altogether.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This precious collab is the result of a very productive afternoon of tweeting. We'll post the link to the thread in the last chapter!  
> Massive thanks to @inqueblott @friedcheesemogu and @cakr_2017 for flailing with us as we spammed their notifs with angst. This fic wouldn't have taken shape without their encouragement!
> 
> seunggiliwko:  
> You guys don't know how stoked I am that this is finally up. It's taken a little while (my fault!!) but I truly believe this work is worth the wait. Writing this chapter was painful and believe me when I say I cried writing my parts (guess which ones if it's not already obvious), which was truly a first in my years of experience in writing. It may be painful now, but I promise it will only get more agonizing from here on out! Loljk (or am I?). So I hope you guys watch out for the next chapters and let us know your thoughts or reactions in the comments or say hello on twitter! -> @seunggiliwko
> 
> dustbunnyprophet:  
> Seunggiliwko cried writing them, I cried editing them, and I'm positive you cried reading them! *hands a box of tissues* Stay strong, we'll make it through! <33


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